The Boy Of Tomorrow
by Dare5
Summary: To win the battle of the future, Claire must save one last ally with powers beyond compare. ClaireZachClach
1. What does it take to be human?

TITLE: The Boy of Tomorrow  
RATING: PG-13  
COUPLE: Claire/Zach (Clach)  
SUMMARY: To win the battle of the future, Claire must save one last ally with powers beyond compare.  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters from Heroes and am not making any profit with them. They all belong to NBC. If they were mine, then I guess I'd make Zach and Claire a couple and wouldn't let Thomas Dekker leave for „The Sarah Connor Chronicles" (because I would have hired him with a contract and not per episode).  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Several things you should know before reading:  
#1: English is my second tongue – I haven't spoken it properly in years; I only write in it, so I'm sorry for all my grammar/spelling problems you might find.  
#2: This is a Claire/Zach story. If you don't like them as a couple, you should probably leave.  
#3: This is AU, as they probably won't hook up on telly among other things. Unfortunately.  
#4: I had the idea to do this when thinking about World of Warcraft's character class „Paladin" and it's implications. If you are familiar with it and know what it has in common with Bastila Shan, you maybe know what this is about.  
#5: Heavily inspired by Terry Pratchett's „Wintersmith"-poem, which belongs to him and I'm not making any money with it. There are also cameos of several concepts, ideas, TV series and movies I enjoy. Have fun finding them.  
#6: I wrote this out of a desire to think about the „other trouser leg of time", were everything ends up well and is painted in pink – or any other color that makes you think of Barbie's dream house and puke. In other words: This story will have an happy ending, a bit more sense of humor than the series, will possibly be Out-of-character for several Heroes, if they appear at all. That's because I'm a happy, positive person who loves to write „dramatic mush". Now you're warned.  
#7: No Zach in chapter one.

Happy reading.

The Boy Of Tomorrow (1/?)  
by Dare

Grass.

Lots of it.

Covering the land until it touched the horizon. The sky has a strong streak of blue, seemingly like ink, but where it touched the silver line at the end of the world, it changed to violet, orange and red.

A boy stood there, in the fields, amidst the green plains. He took a breath, closed his eyes and smiled. Jasmine. Lavender.

The scent tickled his soul and made it squeal with happiness.

This was the perfect dream, Sanjog Iyer realized. And this was also a place that had to be passed at the end of life. But for now, Sanjog was contend by just sitting here, feeling life in all it's forms passing the sphere of dreams, as he marveled in it's beauty.

Dreams are endless – he didn't realize when the small voice started calling him. Persistently. Time and again. After eons spending here, or just after some seconds, he opened his eyes and looked around.

The fields were still covering the lands, now waving as a strong breeze came by, rushed through his soul and made him gather his senses.

He was not alone, he realized. In the corner of his eyes, he saw someone standing – and when he turned around, someone shimmered into existence.

He couldn't say who – or what – the person was, as she or he was standing there, a mere shadow of a human, staring at him from a face that was no more than a large puddle of silver fog. More of them appeared in silence, like the clay warriors guarding their king's eternal sleep.

As Sanjog reached out for them with senses he couldn't even remember he had when he was awake, he realized that they were from the past, the present, the future, the never ending flow of time. And just like their clay made counterparts, their king was among them.

A mere child, Sanjog realized, younger than himself. A boy with thick, round glasses that made him look like a rocket scientist, ready to save the world. Dark blond, tousled hair, slightly wavy, dressed in Jeans and a plain, white shirt. His hands were deeply shoved into his pockets and when he looked at Sanjog, he realized the degree of his power.

A power to change the world – for the better or the worse.

Sanjog had never met him before.

„Greetings," the Boy said and smiled.

Sanjog hesitantly returned the smile. „Greetings."

„I am sorry to disturb you," the Boy said. „Especially in a place like this. But I think there is something I you need to help me with."

„Do you need advice?" Sanjog asked.

The Boy's smile grew and a white row of teeth started to show. „Not the kind of advice you are offering," he said. „It's something entirely different. It's about the unique souls that have gathered in your age. You need to help one of them, since another has reached full maturity and will soon display a very special power."

Sanjog tilted his head a bit and examined the boy carefully. Not much information was leaking from him – there was a huge wall around him, built by a very strong consciousness. But he realized – it was not this that made the boy special – his consciousness. It was his life – or really the place were it originated from.

The Boy grinned. „I see you have found out that I am not entirely alive."

„But you are not dead either," Sanjog replied. „You are neither."

„Well," the Boy nodded. „You have to be born by someone and made human – in my case. Enough Strength to built a home, enough Time to hold a child, enough Love to break a heart; you know what it takes to be human."

Sanjog remembered the lines from somewhere else. „No, the last one is ..." He furrowed his brow. He couldn't remember. Then something else occurred to him. „You are just an _What if _... aren't you?"

The child laughed and brought him back to concentrate on the here and now – even if it was difficult to say what was _here _and _now_ in a place like this.

The gray people around them still stared.

„Yes, I am. Will you help me?" the Boy asked.

Sanjog sighed. „That depends. After what happened and considering who is out there, I cannot --"

„I know," the Boy said. „And I know about your difficulties. But I have a suggestion to make: if you find faults in my plea, I will go and --" he grinned. „Bother someone else. But I assure you I mean no harm."

Sanjog Iyer decided to listen. He always did that with anyone coming to visit him. And when the bBy had finished there was silence for a very long time. And finally ...

„You cannot be serious," Sanjog said.

„I am," the Boy answered.

„No one noticed."

„I know. You will realize it when you come near him and listen closely – he is the key and the power to win any battle you will ever heed."

„Will they find out?"

„They already have," the Boy said. „Please. Find him in time. Save him. He will save her – and the world. He is hope and faith. Future and chance. Everything we've got. They are everything _I've got _to end my _What If ..._"

Sanjog stared at him. _Enough Strength to built a home, enough Time to hold a child, enough Love to break a heart. _But the last one was not right ...

„What's you name?" Sanjog asked.

„Jack," the Boy answered. „Jack. The Boy of Tomorrow.

Hopefully."

Claire Bennet's day had started like this:

She had found out that piercing her liver, her left lung and her stomach didn't kill her – it didn't even hurt properly, but just ruined her shirt and lead her mother to ask stupid questions. She had found out that it wasn't useful or fun to do it without actually documenting it.

No one was there with a camera and Claire refused to think about it.

School had proven to be quite stressful, more than usual, especially since there had been a slight argument between Mrs. Austen, the English teacher and Marcus Wickham, a boy in her class („Mr. Wickham, my eyes are up _here_." „Are you implying that I was staring at your bustline?" A snort. „You don't even have one.") Result: Detention for the entire class.

Claire's mother had found remnants of her several previous „attempts" of Claire's more suicidal phase and Claire had tried to explain them away; all under the critical eyes of her father.

And finally, half dead, she had fallen onto her bed, completely drained.

A _hell _of a day on a world on the edge.

And the worst thing about it – now, she was all alone, when _he _had gone away. Moved away. Disappeared from her life.

A fact that totally sucked.

She drifted towards sleep and closed her eyes. Images rose from the depths of her memory; she hadn't seen some of them in ages. In that place between being awake and being in the middle of a dream, she suddenly found it so easy to scan through them – memories of her first day at school, her seventh birthday, her firth encounter with Jackie, her first meeting with a dark-haired, awkward boy who had looked at her with an expression on his face that made her feel elated and uneasy at once.

There was some kind of recognition between them, but then, the memory subsided and others emerged. Her brother, her mother, her grandparents, her real grandparents, her mother. With some horror she realized that some memories were entirely dedicated to fashion or to make other people feel miserable.

There had really been times where she had been a mean, ugly person – almost Jackie-like. It made her writhe uncomfortably.

And suddenly, the memories were gone and she was standing in her room. The colors of the wall, the bed and the drapes had disappeared – the entire room was gray and dull, but somehow shiny.

And when she looked around, she realized that someone was laying on her bed. And with a second glance, she realized _it was herself._

She was sleeping, rather peacefully, and – Claire bend down – drooling a bit. Great.

For a moment she panicked, not knowing what to do and then, there was an audible _Click _within her head, the panic subsided.

Silence followed.

Then a voice.

"Hello?"

Claire turned around. No one was there.

"Claire Bennet?" the voice asked. It was young – and definitely belonged to a girl. "C'mon, say something, I don't bite."

"Who the hell are you?" Claire snarled, turning around.

A giggle. "My, my, aren't we defensive," she said, and sighed. "I was really doubting this would work, considering the thick head of yours. Just wait a second."

Claire felt a twinge inside her head and sat up with a start – only finding herself sitting on her bed. Her room looked normal – multi-coloured, even, and she decided that her nerves were finally getting at her, when she turned around and looked at --

"Hi."

-- the grinning face of a young girl sitting on her bed.

Screaming, she scooted back and fell, not very graciously, out of her bed. The girl peeked over the edge and looked down at her. "Are you all right?" Then, she giggled again and knocked the side of her head lightly. "Oh, sorry, my bad. I always forget that you are _always _all right, considering who you are."

"And who am I?" Claire snapped, trying to regain her dignity.

The girl smiled. "The Cheerleader, of course." When Claire got up, the girl swung her legs over the bed's frame. "_Who _do _you_ think you are?"

The girl – possibly no older than ten – had dark shiny hair that fell down her back in a carefully braided plait. She was pale and thin – and was wearing black clothes. Her shirt had a picture of Emily Strange on it, her mini skirt small, dark gray skulls and her shoes seemed to have been polished for an entire night.

She was Wednesday Adams on Ritalin, Claire decided, when she saw her friendly, but a little bit scary smile.

Claire shook her head and tried to suppress her anger. "What are you doing in my room?"

"Meep," the answer came. "Wrong question. Try again. I'm not in your room."

An impatient sigh. "This is enough. You are going to leave now, or I'll have my father throw you out," Claire said, pointing towards the door.

The girl shook her head and smiled. She seemed to enjoy this too much for Claire's taste. "I don't think so. Or do you want to have another encounter with the dark-skinned, scary man your father is working with and who can erase people's mind?"

"What?" said Claire sharply.

The girl looked at her innocently. "What _what_?" she asked.

"What did you just say?"

She thought for a second, looking towards Claire's ceiling with a slightly tilted head, her forefinger o her chin. "Meep?" the girl finally proposed.

"_No!_" Claire snapped. "The thing before that."

The girl took a heavy breath and shook her head. "Look, Claire Bennet. Why don't you sit down and calm down a bit and I'll explain everything to you. Then, there will be no need to shout or get angry – which is bad for your karma anyway, and frankly, quite annoying, as we are going to be stuck together for some time now. Okay?"

Claire thought about a lot of things that moment.

About screaming and calling her father or just fainting (which wouldn't work no matter how hard she would try). In the end, she sat down and listened to the girl's story.

And after it, she decided there was only one word for it.

"Insane. You are completely insane."

A dangerous, mischievous glint appeared in the girl's eye. "We will see. Have you ever seen _Ghost_?"

End (1/?)


	2. A fact which I deeply regret

TITLE: The Boy of Tomorrow  
COUPLE: Claire/Zach (Clach)  
RATING: PG-13  
SUMMARY: To win the battle of the future, Claire must save one last ally with powers beyond compare.  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters from Heroes and am not making any profit with them. They all belong to NBC. If they were mine, then I guess I'd make Zach and Claire a couple and wouldn't let Thomas Dekker leave for „The Sarah Connor Chronicles" (because I would have hired him with a contract and not per episode).  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: No Zach yet – and therefore not romance.

The Boy Of Tomorrow (2/?)  
by Dare

It was _not _a dark and stormy night.

Despite that, Claire Bennet could find _any _sleep.

"_I am Henery the Eighth I am!_" the girl sang in which could only be called a truly horrible interpretation of the song. "_Henery the Eighth! I am!_" She was sitting in Claire's armchair and demonstrated a remarkable endurance – if her screams had been heard in the real world, there would be _a lot _of smashed glass everywhere. She was like a siren – with a build-in megaphone.

Claire shot up in bed. "Okay! Okay,_ okay_!" She had already toyed with the idea of sticking a pen deeply into her ear and removing her internal ear, but the following silence was only of cursorily nature, as the girl continued to _sing within her head. _"Okay, I _get it_! What do you want?"

The girl stopped and grinned. "First things first." She cleared her throat. "Hi, my name is Magdalena Carpenter. I would shake your hand if I wasn't just a karmaic appearance created by your consciousness."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, many things, really, but mostly, that you're officially schizophrenic, now. Congrats," Magdalena said, while dangling her legs.

"Are you a ghost?" Claire asked.

"No, I'm a _soul,"_ Magdalena answered. "I don't do that whole _Wohooo-thing_ and walk around half-transparent with a white cloak over my head. Also, I'm still attached to a body._"_

Claire stared at her. "Are you comatose?"

Magdalenass eyebrows rose to her hairline. "Do I look like Reese Witherspoon to you? No, I'm very alive, thankyouverymuch," she huffed.

"What do you _want _from me?" Claire asked. She felt a headache coming – and sleep deprivation was finally taking it's toll. "Isn't there anyone else you can bug?"

"Unfortunately, no, "Magdalena said. "This task is kinda classified and only you have clearance, so to say." She looked at Claire in the darkness. Her black eyes were sparkling with sympathy. "I want you to help me save someone. Someone very important. In about a week, your holidays are going to start – you are going to run away from home."

"I beg your pardon?" Claire asked incredulously.

"Everything is prepared, don't worry," Magdalena said. "You _have _to do it. You don't have any choice. Otherwise, I'll stay with you forever – for the rest of your _very long _life."

"Can't someone else --?"

"No."

"Do you know who my father is?"

"Yes. This is one of the main reasons why we are going to _run away_," Magdalena said. Her expression changed to something Claire couldn't interpret. Earnest, a bit afraid, anxious, and very serious. "Do you know what a human is made of?"

"Dirty water, essentially?" Claire answered, dryly, trying to hide her surprise about the change of topic.

Magdalena laughed. "I was aiming at the more _poetic _version: _Enough Strength to built a home, enough Time to hold a child, enough Love to break a heart. _Otherwise the Boy of Tomorrow will never exist."

"What _Boy of Tomorrow_?" Claire asked, but Magdalena was gone; vanished into thin air, as if she had never existed.

She was alone. Finally. She buried herself in her pillows and stared towards the window. It didn't open and no-one climbed in. While tumbling towards sleep, she thought about what Magdalena had said.

Something was wrong about the last part of it, but she couldn't remember the right version ...

Claire managed to forget about Magdalena. At least, almost. There were lots of people dressed like Madgalena in her high school – most of them were older, but she always twitched when she saw one of them. When they turned around to wave at Claire post-un-popularity-contest, she waved back in relief, realizing they weren't Magdalena.

On the first morning of her holidays, she woke up in her room and Magdalena was sitting on her desk, legs dangling. She smiled – her outfit had changed considerably; she was now wearing a pink get-up that vaguely resembled a Japanese school uniform the geek boys at Claire's school were so fond of.

"Ready?" she asked.

Claire fell back onto her bed, and groaned. This was _so _not happening.

"Today your day, your mountain is waiting, so get on your way," Magdalena quoted, being sickenly happy. "You have to get up, sunshine."

"Go away, you don't exist," Claire grumbled. Then she sat up. "What are we going to do today anyway?"

Magdalena smiled. "Well, first, you are going to shower, of course, and then, dress and then --" When she noticed Claire giving her the evil eye, she cleared her throat. "Okay, okay. You will dress into something regular, like Jeans, a baseball cap or something and then, we are going to go on an excavation near the church."

"You want me to dig up _bones_?" Claire asked.

"No – we won't go all six feet down, just a mere inch or two ... or three. Hurry, sweety, okay?"

Claire, after pointing out that she was no-one's _sweety_, trudged towards the bathroom, showered and changed into blue jeans and an olive-coloured tank top. Magdalena insisted on the baseball cap and after some negotiations, they settled on a baker boy cap. Claire picked up a small trowel from the garage and put it inside her jacket's pocket.

Wandering towards the church, Claire shook her head. "I can't believe I'm doing that."

"Lots of people are talking to voices," Magdalena assured her, walking right next to her. "Only difference between them and you is that they are mentally ill and you are not."

Claire snorted. "I bet _their _voices are telling them the exactly same thing."

Magdalena laughed. "I guess so," she said.

They reached the gate of the cemetery and Claire pushed the black heavy gate until it reluctantly opened. No one was there – at least no one alive; and Magdalena lead her through the army of stone crosses until they reached a single one at the back of the field of the dead. It was halfway clad with ivy and moos, and when Claire removed parts of it, she could read the name of the inhabitant.

Michael Banks  
1902 – 1962

"Who is he?" Claire asked.

"An old and deceased friend," Magdalena answered. "On the back of the cross under the triangular stone is where you have to dig."

Claire looked around if she was all alone, then hid behind the large stone cross and started to remove the gray triangular stone someone had placed into the ground. She started to dig – and just as Magdalena had promised, she trowel touched something that sounded metallic.

After some minutes, she managed to uncover a small, rusty box. After blowing the dust from it, she examined it more carefully and shook it. Several objects were in it, at least one of them was made of metal, like the box itself.

Claire looked at Magdalena. "When was this placed here?"

"Oh ... I don't know. For some time now."

Claire leaned against the stone cross, placed the box onto her lap and opened it carefully. She found two items: one of them was a key, and another was a yellowish letter with her name on it.

She opened it and her eyebrows rose so high, they almost wandered up her head and down her neck. The date at the top of the letter said: 5th November, 1959.

Her eyes wandered over the fine, black handwriting.

_To Claire Bennet, concerning The Boy Of Tomorrow._

_Dear Claire._

_I am truly sorry we cannot meet in person. My only excuse for this is that I have died in the meantime, a fact which I deeply regret and would have changed if I were in the position to do so. I have dreamt often of you, my dear Claire, and think I know you and love you as if you were my own daughter. You are such an extraordinary human being and I have often watched with regret the extend of your self-hatred, which is completely unnecessary, I can assure you. But, as time goes by, maybe, you will find out by yourself. Despite this, I am sending you my key and my best wishes. The key will open safe deposit box number 1013 in the local concourse – Magdalena, who is with you right now – will show you the way. The contents will help you cut your own path more easily. My wishes will maybe provide you with good luck; otherwise they are completely useless, I am afraid. I am sending them anyway, because even in the world you are living in, forty years away from the world I live in, there is still the concept of destiny and karma and the possibility to change both. Please, do anything, try anything, dare anything, to save _The Boy Of Tomorrow. _He is worth everything and so much more, as you will find out._

_Until we meet again,  
I'll watch you and wish you all the best, all the luck of two worlds._

_With best and loving regards,_

_Michael Bartholomew Banks, Esq._

_PS. I trust that Magdalena has already informed you of the things that make us human. The last line is wrong, as you have suspected. _He _knows the correct wording of it._

Claire looked up. Her eyes were suspiciously shiny and her voice trembled. She waved with the letter towards Magdalena. "Who is he?"

"He is a bit like you – an Englishmen who has spent his entire life – which was filled with it's own extraordinary circumstances – in London, and insisted to be buried here. He had the ability to travel to the future with his spirit and see what it was like," Magdalena answered, sadly.

Claire eyed her warily. "You knew him."

Magdalena shrugged. "He would sometimes visit my dreams when I was younger. He was – well, _extraordinary_." She smiled and sighed. "And now, we have some work to do."

"The concourse," Claire said.

"The _old _concourse," Magdalena nodded. "A miracle they haven't torn it down yet."

Claire refilled the small hole and placed the triangular stone into it. Then, she straightened her posture and took a deep breath. Some small sheep-like clouds hurried over the otherwise flawless, blue sky and the sun was no more than a large, golden coin.

It was the perfect day, Claire realized, as she walked home.

The perfect day ... maybe to change the world.

End (2/?)


	3. Places to go, stuff to see

TITLE: The Boy of Tomorrow  
RATING: PG-13  
COUPLE: Claire/Zach (Clach)  
SUMMARY: To win the battle of the future, Claire must save one last ally with powers beyond compare.  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters from Heroes and am not making any profit with them. They all belong to NBC. If they were mine, then I guess I'd make Zach and Claire a couple and wouldn't let Thomas Dekker leave for „The Sarah Connor Chronicles" (because I would have hired him with a contract and not per episode).  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: No Zach yet – and therefore not romance. I'm truly sorry. But we'll get there.

The Boy Of Tomorrow (3/?)  
by Dare

Claire was sitting in her room, fresh from the shower.

The old concourse had been a run down building with broken windows and holes in the roof. Everywhere water had been dripping down and there had been signs of previous inhabitants: vagrants and homeless people, she suspected, but when she had visited it, it had been completely empty.

Safe deposit box number 1013 was a rusty, reddish bin at the end of a long hall. The key fitted instantly and inside, she found a large envelope, another box and a briefcase. She took them all home to open them there.

The contents were interesting, to say the least.

Magdalena had left – which Claire was grateful for. She needed to collect her thoughts and tried to get used to the fact that someone had known her for her entire life – and that someone had died over forty years ago.

The man, Michael Banks, had left her a bank account which had been managed by a small office of lawyers, Rosencrantz & Sons. It was located in Midland, Texas. Letters and notes were attached to the information about the office, one of them said: "They will be waiting for you and instantly recognize you."

Also, she realized, Banks had included an idea about how to pay for her travels to Midland. She looked down at the baseball card, placed carefully into a small paper package. It was well preserved and looked old, but she had never heard of the man on it:

Augustus Joseph Dandelheimer – poor guy. With such a name, High School would have been hell for him. She decided to visit one of the local geek stores to learn about the card and if it was worth anything at all.

Furthermore, an old business card was included of a man, James Guildenstern, who apparently ran a cab company in her area – she had never heard of him or seen any of his cars. ("You need to pay him! He is greedy!" the note said.)

Further items included a white bunny made from a soft fabric with orange eyes and a strange, blank expression, a collection of old fifty cent pieces, a paper clip, and a cigarette lighter with an inscription on it: "_The carpet is on fire."_

Claire didn't know what to make out of that one.

She placed everything into her bag and after that, a very quiet weekend followed, until on Monday, she made her way to a store she remembered ... an old friend visiting. It was a huge, brick-walled building with a Chinese restaurant and a Pizza Hut cornering it.

A huge sign which definitely needed to be repainted said:

Ye Olde Geek Shop. There were pictures of the Death Star, Spock and a Dragon on it.

Claire just stared for a second and finally shook her head. The doors opened with a weird _Shhhhffft _sound and Claire almost stumbled over a huge display of Darth Vader.

_So ... where is the archetypical geek to go along with this place?_

She was not disappointed: The man behind the corner, tall, thin, gangly, with a pimple ridden face and flaming red hair, was reading a book called "The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch." When Claire cleared her throat to get some attention, the man looked at her as if she was from Mars.

Claire wasn't sure if he had ever met a real human being – or talked to a girl that wasn't a Trekkie, for that matter.

"Hello," Claire greeted him. "I, erm, found this on the attic of my grandfather. I know it's worth something, but maybe you could tell me exactly how much."

The man – his tag said _Hermes –_ gave her a patronizing look and readjusted his glasses, when he leaned over Claire's card. He stared at it for a second, looked up at Claire, cleared his throat to an extend that Claire suspected him to have swallowed an entire family of turtles and finally said:

"Stay here. Don't move. Be right back." Then, he left through the door behind the counter. "Phillip! Leela! John! Hubert!"

"What is it, Hermes? Michael Jackson _again _visiting your store?" an annoyed voice came from somewhere in the back.

"No – there is, erm, a costumer, and she has an Augustus J. Dandelheimer card."

There was clearly some doubt. "The green-dot-version or the blue-dot-version?" a female voice asked.

"The yellow-striped version!" Hermes said, very excited. (There were no yellow stripes at all on the card, Claire noted.) "In excellent state! With the thin silver stripe at the _bottom_!"

There was some rustling and shoving, someone groaned and seconds later, the space behind the counter was crowded by four guys and a girl with violet hair and an eyepatch on one left eye. Claire tried not to stare, as the group of _Lone Gunmen _bent over the card and started to debate.

"Excellent state, really excellent state."

"Look at the fine lining!"

"And the perfect round corners!"

"And the smell of jasmine and lavender!"

"Shut up, _John!_"

They raised their glances at Claire again. "Well, Ringbearer, coming to the loins of Mount Doom. What can we do for you?"

"How much is it worth?" Claire asked.

Hermes stated an amount.

"You've got to be kidding me," Claire said.

"It's a perfect August J. Dandelheimer card!" Hermes said. His hands were constantly flying over the card, but never touching it. He was practically shaking. John had drops of sweat running down his face and Leela was searching frantically for a cigarette, as if she just had – Claire closed her eyes.

_Don't think about it._

"It's practically _holy_!" Hubert said. He had a bald head and round glasses on a crooked nose. "The Holy Grail!"

Claire nodded. "I see." Things were getting weirder and weirder. "Well, then. I need you to sell it for me. You get twenty percent of the result, if you are successful. I need the money as fast as possible."

They stared at the cheerleader.

"Really?" Hermes finally managed.

"Really," Claire said.

She had never seen freaks celebrate and it was something she would never forget again. There were announcements of a Star Trek marathon among other things. When she left the shop, Magdalena was waiting for her, this time dressed in a marine blue Sailor-Moon-ish School Uniform with a skirt that was more like a broad belt, trademark loose socks and black-laced shoes.

"Very well done, Claire," she said and hoped off the hydrant she had been sitting on.

Claire waved with a small note. "How did Banks knew I could trust them?"

Magdalena shrugged. "Many reasons – the main one being that he practically knew everything relevant. What are you going to do next?"

"Wait for my money and then call that cab company from the business card," Claire said. She sighed. "I'm not sure if I can do the entire thing, really. My parents, my brother, my – my _father_. I just want to be normal and doing all this will practically _catapult _me towards freak-ness."

"You are not a _freak_, Claire," Magdalena told her. "You are just – healthier than other persons. You have to _like _who you are, otherwise your entire life will not work out."

"Funny."

"What?"

Claire looked at her. "Someone else told me the same thing."

Magdalena smiled. "Look – I know about your father and that your mother will be very worried. But I promise you if you do this, there will be no dire consequences for you. Everything will be better – for you, for your family, for everyone. But if you _don't _do this – the consequences ..." She touched her brow and looked down for a second. When her glance met Claire's again, there was a look of sadness on her face. "Everything will be lost. There are people out there who would kill for your powers, for your _gift_. But no matter how popular spontaneous regeneration is on the evil guys' Christmas lists, the abilities of the one person you have to save far out-powers yours."

"Why can't he – or _she –_ protect themselves if they are so powerful?" Claire demanded. "Why do I have to do it?"

"The powers of that person are not the way your powers are – you will find out when the two of you will finally meet. Unfortunately, currently there are people out there who can manipulate times and space, can fly, create fire and all that stuff, but if you shoot them, drown them, strangle them, make them jump off a cliff, all of them are dead. You, on the other hand, are not."

"You expect all that stuff happen to me?"

"Theoretically, that stuff could happen to anyone," Magdalena said vaguely.

"Yeah, but apparently, it will happen to me. And what about you? Why are you in this?" Claire asked.

"I'm in this for a friend," she said. "I'm everything I am because of him."

"You mean, you are a wandering soul attached to a body because of him?" Claire asked.

Magdalena looked at her with some regret. "To some people the things you despise can be the greatest gift of them all. I'm doing this because I need to return a favor that is, essentially, unreturnable. And I'm doing this because of _The Boy Of Tomorrow_."

Claire sighed. "And because of the last part of what it takes to become human?"

"You surely learn fast," Magdalena smiled. "Look. I have places to go, stuff to see. You go to Midland to visit your lawyers. They know everything, don't worry."

"Are they like those geeks in there?" Claire asked, pointing with her thumb over her shoulder.

"They are worse. They will send you places to find _him_," said Madgalena. "The key to save the Boy. You'll see."

"I hate it when everyone just says _You'll see_," Claire grumbled and turned to leave for home.

The geek money arrived on Wednesday and she took some of it to pay the cab driver she was about to call.

When she dialed the number, a sleepy male voice answered. "Hello?"

"Er, yes, this is Claire Bennet. Am I speaking to James Guildenstern?"

"Claire Bennet?" the voice on the other side echoed. "_The _Claire Bennet?"

She frowned. "Erm, yes?" Claire said.

There was some rustling on the other side. "The Cheerleader?"

Claire sighed. "Yeah – how do you know about me?"

The voice, clearly male, grew excited. "From my father, of course. He was Mr. Banks' driver. I've been waiting for you like, _forever_! I know everything about you! It's my destiny to finally meet you, Miss Claire!"

Claire narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "What _exactly _do you know about me?"

"Well, that your name is Claire Bennet ... and that I'm obliged – and honored – to drive you anywhere you want, and, well, that you will save the world and ... there has been some debate what color your hair would be. Some said it would be red, some said it would be black and I thought it would be green. Agnes said it would be blond."

"Agnes _Nutter_, the witch with nice and accurate prophecies?" Claire asked against better judgment.

"Yeah! You know that, too?" The man chuckled. "You are _so_ going to rock. Where will we meet?" He hesitated. "You _do _have money, don't you?"

"Yes, that won't be a problem," Claire answered. "We meet at Church Street. In front of the cemetery? At eleven o'clock?"

"No prob, Miss Claire."

"How will I recognize you?"

Again, a chuckle. "Don't worry, I know _everything _about you. I will find _you_."

"Ye-ah," Claire said, making it sound as if 'Yeah' had to syllables.

James Guildenstern remained unimpressed. "Great, I'll see you then." He hung up.

Claire stared at the phone and wondered what she had gotten into.

End (3/?)


	4. Something of a rocket scientist

TITLE: The Boy of Tomorrow  
RATING: PG-13  
COUPLE: Claire/Zach (Clach)  
SUMMARY: To win the battle of the future, Claire must save one last ally with powers beyond compare.  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters from Heroes and am not making any profit with them. They all belong to NBC. If they were mine, then I guess I'd make Zach and Claire a couple and wouldn't let Thomas Dekker leave for „The Sarah Connor Chronicles" (because I would have hired him with a contract and not per episode).  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: No Zach yet – but we're getting there. A tiny glimpse of him, maybe here, and an entire Zach in #5.

The Boy Of Tomorrow (4/?)  
by Dare

"What _the hell _is that?" Claire asked.

James Guildenstern, a tall man with a receding hair line and nothing remotely resembling a haircut, stood next to a yellow monster. "Erm, this is Pandora," he introduced his cab, possibly built 1804. "She is much faster than it seems – and I have removed her original motor in order to --"

"Yeah, I get it. I get it." Claire sighed. Magdalena would _so _going to get it – if she had the guts to appear again.

This was no car, this wasn't even an oldtimer, this was as disease, she decided when she slid onto the backseat and sniffed.

"Oh, that just my cat Rufus," James said. "He is sleeping under my seat. Don't disturb him and he won't disturb you."

Claire spotted a huge, red cat with piercing yellow eyes somewhere in the darkness of the car.

"Does he ever leave – _Pandora_?" Claire wanted to know.

"Nope. He kinda resides here," James said. "Do you mind if I smoke, Miss Claire?"

"Yes," she said sharply.

"Cool," James announced. "You really _are _exactly like Mr. Banks told dad told me. Now – the money?"

"Oh, yeah right." She handed him an envelope and James opened it. His eyes grew huge.

"For that, I'll drive you anywhere you want," he announced. "Mi cara es tu cara."

"I'm sorry?" Claire asked.

He looked at her via the driving mirror. She saw his embarrassment. "Well, you know – my car is your car."

"Right. Just drive – and let me do the talking," Claire told him and handed him Rosencrantz' business card.

"Midland, huh?" He placed a black driver's cap onto his hat. The sheer corniness of it made Claire roll her eyes. "Here we go."

He started the motor and Pandora howled with what Claire hoped was enthusiasm. The entire car jerked once, twice and then, a high sound emanated from the engine, grew higher and higher, and finally the entire vehicle bolted down the street.

Claire's last thought was: I hope I'll make it alive.

James Guildenstern talked _the entire way until they arrived in Midland. _He talked practically about everything: the prices at the local supermarket, Chad Vader, internet pornography, his new Nike shoes, his doctor's misconceptions about his headaches, a new brand of cigarettes he had recently found out about and the his neighbor's affair with the postman (Claire couldn't find out if the neighbor, or the postman for that matter, were male, or female, or neither – or both). No matter how much she snapped at him for shutting up – the silence lasted about for ten seconds and then he started again.

The office of Rosencrantz & Sons was in a small, dark alley were James could park Pandora and then, the alley was full. It was an old office building, a bit run down, and Claire couldn't care less: she almost screamed "Land!" when she was finally leaving his bad excuse for a vehicle.

Someone was standing at the window and when he saw Claire, he waved. Claire was just about to ring the bell when someone opened her.

It was an elderly men with gray hair and a long, thin face. He sported a friendly expression, a pair of thin-rimmed glasses and the air of the archetypical grandfather.

"Hello," he said, wearily, when he saw James' car and James, leaning on it, smoking a cigarette. "Are you lost, young lady?"

"No," she said and fished a piece of paper from her backpack. "Are you Mr. Rosencrantz?"

"Why, yes," the man said, clearly surprised. "What can I do for you?"

She looked up at him. "My name is Claire Bennet," she clarified. "I am here to talk to you about Mr. Michael Bartholomew Banks?"

The man stared at her. "_You _are Claire Bennet?" He stared at her and suddenly recognition seemed to dawn in his features. "Just a second." He closed the door and after some moments opened them again.

Claire opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off when she noticed a swift movement in the corner of her eyes. When she looked down, she noticed the ugly gash on her forearm and Rosencrantz, standing there with a now bloody knife, looking down at the wound with growing fascination.

"Are you _crazy_?" she snapped at him angrily. "What are you _doing_?" She slapped him on the chest, but the man remained unimpressed.

The blood on her skin immediately started to disappear until nothing more than a slightly red stain was visible on her flawless skin – and seconds later, even that had disappeared.

Rosencrantz looked up. "Just had to be sure. Do you have a passport?"

"Just how many girls with with ability to spontaneously regenerate come and visit you, Mr. Rosencrantz?" Claire asked, still annoyed.

It hadn't hurt very much and her self-inflicted wounds had been much worse, but people still couldn't come up to her and stab her – just for identification. _Hello, are you Claire Bennet? Oh, just let me cut your throat and then, we'll see._

"That's a good point," Rosencrantz admitted. "Still, do you _have _a passport?"

Claire sighed. "I have student ID card – and a library card and a monthly bus ticket," she said.

James laughed softly and Claire shot him a glance that silenced him immediately.

"Maybe you should come in, Miss Bennet," Mr. Rosencrantz advised her and opened the door.

"Are you going to stab me again?" Claire asked suspiciously.

"No," he assured her. "You're now perfectly save. I'm sorry, but I have instructions I need to follow."

"What if I hadn't been Claire Bennet and you would have injured some innocent girl?"

Rosencrantz shrugged. "I don't know. Bad luck?"

Claire followed him up a large stairway to his bureau. Everything, from the floor, to the ceiling, to the frames of the windows were mahagony colored. Even the light, floating through large, spacious windows seemed to be dark golden. The walls were covered with bookshelves, as were the tables and sometimes, even the floor.

It didn't seem like an office, but a library. Claire told her host so, and Mr. Rosencrantz chuckled. "I only had one client in my entire life," he said. "And he was very generous. The only thing I do is reading – and waiting for you."

"You've been waiting for me since forty years?" Claire wanted to know.

"Oh, possibly longer," Mr. Rosencrantz said. "But I don't mind. I owe Mr. Banks so much."

"Aren't you leaving those rooms ever?" she asked.

"Of course I do – I go shopping and play mini golf every Saturday. And since my discovery of Ebay, this place is practically bustling with life." He winked at her and motioned her to sit down in front of his desk. He himself took his seat behind it, readjusted his glasses once again and smiled. "Now, your student ID, library card and monthly bus ticket, please."

She handed them over and with lots of "Hmm"s and nodding, he finally gave them back. "For the official proceedings, I might need your passport, though," he informed her, while opening a drawer.

"What _official proceedings_?" Claire asked.

"Mr. Michael Bartholomew Banks has named you as his sole heir," he asked and handed her some documents. "You get his money, his estate, his shares and his bonds, under the condition that you save the so-called _Boy Of Tomorrow._" He nodded towards a sealed envelope. "His last will."

"The man never met me," Claire protested.

Mr. Rosencrantz smiled behind those glasses of his. "I concur. And yet, he has," he said and nodded at something behind Claire.

The girl turned around and paled visibly.

Next to the door within a large, golden frame, there was an oil painting ...

... of herself. Her long tresses flowed down her neck and touched her shoulders. On the picture, Claire was looking down, her long lashes visible. A smile was gracing her lips, and it was obvious that she knew a secret.

"That's me," Claire concluded. "That's really _me_."

Mr. Rosencrantz laughed. "Yes, I know. Mr. Banks drew it. There are lots of sketch books preserved which also show pictures of you. In the meantime, I will give you this. Mr. Banks' instructions inform me that you'll need it." He handed her a credit card. "And this. There is a date on the backside of it."

She took the map and looked at it. A large X marked a spot. And the date on the back ...

She looked up. "That's tomorrow. Just great."

Mr. Rosencrantz chuckled. "Yes. I had several bets going with my sons. Looks like I lost them."

She looked at the credit card. "Aren't those for people who, at least, hold a job?"

"Yes – and technically, the account is still registered for me. However, you can take as much money, as you want," Mr. Rosencrantz said. "I imagine you'll need it. After all, it _belongs _to you and I am told your father shouldn't get it."

"Yes," Claire said, slowly. She wondered just _how much _Mr. Rosencrantz knew about practically anything. "Yes, I guess so."

"Do you have any questions?" Mr. Rosencrantz asked.

Claire looked at him, trying to figure him out. "What do you know about this so-called _Boy Of Tomorrow_?"

Rosencrantz sighed. "Not much. Mr. Banks was always very vague on the subject. He is very important; he is another person than the one you are going to save on the date of the map." Raising a finger, he suddenly remembered something. "However, Mr. Banks once drew a picture of him." He scanned the contents of his drawer and finally placed a picture carefully on the table. "There. That's the one."

Drawn with red chalk on a ivory-colored piece of paper, Claire looked at the face of a young boy. He was beautiful, a bit sad, and had the most expressive eyes she had ever seen. Long lashes surrounded them, making him look just a tad feminine. He somehow looked familiar, but Claire couldn't put her finger on the feeling and trace it back to the corresponding memory. He was holding a pair of thick glasses in his left hand – and Claire imagined him wearing them and saw something of a rocket scientist.

"Can I keep this?" she asked.

Rosencrantz nodded. "Sure – go ahead. What about --" he gestured towards the Will and all the documents. "Everything else?"

She hesitated and furrowed her brows. "Do you think you can manage everything until I am fully of age?"

"I haven't been doing anything else for all my life. I think I can manage," Rosencrantz responded dryly. He watched her getting ready. "What are you going to do now?"

Claire looked at the map. "I will visit ... the person that is _not _the Boy of Tomorrow and save him ... or her, though I don't know what this is all about. And then, we'll see." She shook her head. "I don't believe all of this. Maybe I'm going crazy, slowly."

Rosencrantz shook his head. "Most certainly not. You know why?"

"Why?"

He leaned towards her and his voice was tinged with benevolent humor. "Magdalena doesn't visit mentally ill people." He winked ...

... and for the first time on this day, Claire laughed. And she had never enjoyed the liberating feeling so much than in this very moment.

End (4/?)


	5. Are you flirting with me?

TITLE: The Boy of Tomorrow  
RATING: PG-13  
COUPLE: Claire/Zach (Clach)  
SUMMARY: To win the battle of the future, Claire must save one last ally with powers beyond compare.  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters from Heroes and am not making any profit with them. They all belong to NBC. If they were mine, then I guess I'd make Zach and Claire a couple and wouldn't let Thomas Dekker leave for „The Sarah Connor Chronicles" (because I would have hired him with a contract and not per episode).  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Zach!! This time, we meet him – and he will stay. Sorry it took so long.

The Boy Of Tomorrow (5/?)  
by Dare

"No, dad, I'm staying with Monica. Hasn't mom told you?"

"She told me!" Claire heard her mother calling from the background. "And I have already talked to Monica. Everything's just fine."

Mr. Bennet sighed. "Well then, Claire. Until tomorrow?"

"Yes, dad. Until tomorrow." She closed her cell and looked over at the house. "This is it?"

"Yep," James said. He had picked up something from McDonald's and was munching heavily, completely happy – and satiated. "This is it. Address on the map an' everything. Date is wrong, though."

"We are so not going to wait until tomorrow," Claire said. "You stay here, I'll be right back."

"But – how do you know who it is?" James called, but Claire was already halfway over the lawn.

_I don't know, _she thought. _But _maybe _Magdalena is kind enough to show up – and show me the damn way. Where is that girl anyway?_

Claire heard a soft _Plop _and Magdalena appeared, being her usual cheerful self."Been worried?"

"In your dreams," Claire muttered, as she approached the house. "Who lives there?"

"An elderly couple," Magdalena said.

"And who is it? The man or the woman?" Claire asked.

"Neither. It's their grandson," Magdalena explained. "He stays on the second floor – and I wouldn't go any further if I were you."

Claire stomped on. "What's that supposed to mean?" she grumbled. The train and the fire inferno attached to it hadn't been able to stop her; some spooky old mansion wasn't going to stop her either. "We are here and now, we are going --"

Just then, the sprinklers decided to start. Claire cursed loudly, especially given the perspective of no alternate clothing.

"I told you," Magdalena chirped and reached out to touch the water. Claire watched as the drops went straight through her hand.

"No, you just said: _I wouldn't go any further. _That wasn't very precise."

"What's not precise about _I wouldn't go any further?" _Madgalena demanded to know.

Claire was about to snap at her, when she heard something. "_Shhh!_" She heard a door being opened and closed again and a voice of a boy or a young man coming nearer, crossing the lawn.

"Is someone there?" Claire saw a shadowy figure approaching. "Hello?"

He was a boy – about Claire's age with short brown hair, though longer than she remembered it. He was clad in black jeans and a marine colored t-shirt. A couple of earplugs was dangling around his neck. Claire would recognize him anywhere on the planet.

"_So no way_," she whispered. She turned to Magdalena. "That's him?"

Magdalena smiled. "That's him."

"You _could _have_ told_ me!"

"And miss the look on your face? I don't think so." Magdalena eyed the boy appreciatively. "He's cute."

Claire's look could have killed a lesser woman, but Magdalena just smiled kindly. "You know it and I know it," she said.

"Claire?" the boy asked. "Claire, is that you?" A short pause. "You look -- _wet_."

_At least he remembers me. _Claire closed her eyes for a second, forced a smile on her face and turned towards him. "Hello, Zach. Can I talk to you for a second?"

He stared at her. "You came all the way from Odessa just to _talk to me for a second?" _Then he noticed something. "And whose that guy waving at us?" He blinked. "And – is that _really _a car?"

"That's James Guildenstern and Pandora. The_ car_ is called Pandora," Claire added quickly when she saw Zach's quizzical expression. "Can we _please _go in?"

"Just _who _is this guy?" Zach stared at the car, then back at Claire. "And the car's name is _Pandora_?"

"Yes, and there's a reason it is called this way, believe me. Can we just go in? And you stay here," she told Magdalena, who pointed at Zach and gave Claire two thumbs up.

Zach looked at her. "Who are you talking to?"

Magdalena laughed and made faces at Zach. He didn't even flinch.

_Just great_. "James. I'm talking to James. _You stay here_!" she shouted and James Guildenstern, smoking a cigarette once again, replied in an equal volume:

"_All right!_"

Zach stared at both of them. "Maybe it's really a good idea to let you come in. Are you sure you're alright?" he asked. "Did you – you know, cut your head off once too often?"

"Ha-ha, very funny," Claire stated dryly and when Zach wasn't looking, gestured towards Magdalena to make her stay out of the house. Magdalena stuck out her tongue.

She followed him inside the house, which was, she had to admit, large enough to invite a film team and set the latest part of _Harry Potter _in here. It was neat and clean, and emanated the old-money-feeling Claire always associated New England with.

"Are your grandparents rich or something?" Claire wanted to know.

"Or something, yes," Zach told her. He lead her up to her room and closed the door behind them. "_What are_ you _doing_ here?"

"I came to see you," she admitted and continued talking when she saw first signs of blushing on his face. She was dripping on his carpet and was feeling quite cold and miserable, currently, but tried hard not to show it. After all, she was the heroine here. "Don't get any wrong ideas. I've been through some pretty weird things, lately, even weirder than usual – anyway, you need to come with me."

"To come with you?" he repeated. "Where? Why?"

_Right. Good question. _She started to open her mouth, but Zach continued.

"And who is that _guy _outside in that cab?" he demanded. "He doesn't really look like your regular cab driver. Does he even have a license?"

Additional questions concerning that topic entered Claire's mind, among them: Is that car even allowed in this country? Are you allowed to drive with more then a hundred and twenty miles per hour? And, if you would disinfect the interior, would the smell of cat and, as she recently discovered, _goat _go away?

"His name is James Guildenstern. He drove me here."

"There was no other cab available, but his?" Zach asked.

"No," Claire said curtly. "Look. Everything is really complicated, and I really need you to come with me."

"With you?" he echoed. "I'm currently visiting my grandparents. I cannot just 'go with you'. They will freak out if I disappear with some weird-ish girl."

Claire had expected something like this. "I'm not _weird-_ish," she stated. "And as for everything else: Apparently, someone's kinda, well, after you. Probably some guy who was after me, too. Someone who can rip you head open by merely thinking about it. I don't know yet why he wants you of all people, since you are not special at all --" She dismissed his fallen face with a small motion with her hands. "You know what I mean – you cannot like go all Mr. Miracle Grow or something, right? But still, someone's after you _and you have to accompany me. _Don't make me knock you out and carry you out of here."

Zach smiled. "You would do that?"

"No," she spat. "Are you coming or not?"

Zach sighed. "I really appreciate you coming to this place, Claire, and being worried about me, but – do you know how _freaky _all of this sounds?"

"Zach? Zach!" someone called. It took a second and then, the door opened. A pretty girl with long, flowing dark hair entered the room and froze on the doorstep, looking from Claire to Zach and back. "Oh, hi – erm ...?"

Zach sighed and got up. "Claire, this is Zoe – Zoe, meet Claire. Claire's a friend from my old school."

"Hi, Claire," Zoe beamed and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you. Zach, I'm leaving now. See you tomorrow." Zoe reached up and kissed Zach's cheek. "Claire." She nodded towards the cheerleader and left the room.

Claire stared at her, and then back and Zach who stared at the other girl with a funny look. Was it longing?

He had moved away just _weeks _ago and was already having a _girlfriend_? He had never had a girlfriend when he had been attending Claire's high school.

"Then, I'll stay," Claire said.

Zach looked at her. "_What?_"

"I'll stay," Claire said and straightened out her clothes. "Until tomorrow. Whatever happens, it will happen tomorrow. Until then, I will not leave."

"And where will you sleep?" he asked. "In James Guildenstern's car?"

Zach was met with solid determination. "If necessary," she told him.

"Do your _parents _know about this?" Zach wanted to know.

"They think I'm staying with Monica Hayes," Claire admitted. She got up and smiled sweetly at him. "Until tomorrow." She turned to leave but Zach stopped her, grabbing her arm.

"Wait."

She pointedly looked down at his hand on her forearm and he let go of her. "For what?" she asked.

"I'll talk to my grandparents. You can take the guest quarters for the night. They're just down the hall," he said. "What about your cab driver?"

"I tell him to leave and pick me up tomorrow," Claire said. Zach lead her down to the entrance and Claire hurried down the lawn once again to James who was still leaning against Pandora.

"Well, Miss Claire? Where now?" he asked.

"Can you pick me up tomorrow at four o'clock?" she asked him. "I'm going to stay for the night?"

James laughed hoarsely. "But of course, Miss Claire," he said and waggled with his eyebrows.

Claire resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Just _go_, James. And drive carefully, okay?"

"Sure will, Miss Claire. See you tomorrow then," he said, got into Pandora and, after much mechanical, aerodynamical and physical drama, he managed to drive away.

Zach came out and witnessed the large dark cloud James left behind. "That's an interesting car," he commented.

Claire shook her head and crossed her arms. "You should see it in the inside," she said.

"C'mon, let's go inside. I'll give you clothes to change," he said.

"Zoe's clothes?" she asked in a sing-sang-voice.

Zach sighed and choose to ignore her. "Wanna catch a cold or drip onto the carpets?"

Claire shot him glance and followed him towards the house. "Your grandparents have a great place," she finally said. "Where are they?"

He shrugged. "At some function, I guess. They'll come home this evening."

"Will they mind me staying at your place?" Claire asked.

Zach gave her a dark look. "No, not at all," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Claire asked, when they climbed the stairs up to the second floor.

Zach groaned. "It's kinda – embarrassing and I really don't want to talk about it."

Claire looked at him quizzically. "Oookay," she said, and walked ahead when Zach opened a door for her.

"Your room, for the night," he said. "Just wait a sec."

While he went away, she took the opportunity to look around. It really _was _a huge house. Everything was clean and neat and she felt reminded of a museum. Not a single flake of dust anywhere. The sheets were white and flawless, as if they had been ironed while still being on the bed. A desk sat next to the window and you could actually _enter _the wardrobe.

When Zach came back, he handed her a bundle of fresh clothes. "For you," he said. "I think they'll fit. Not your usual style, but it's everything Zoe left here."

"Your girlfriend?" Claire asked.

Zach stared at her with an unreadable expression. "Just change," he finally said. "I'll wait outside."

It really wasn't Claire's style. Usual, she was wearing her cheerleader uniform, but Zoe's clothes who were just a tiny bit too large consisted out of a skyblue shirt and light cargo pants. The sleeves made Claire's hands disappear under them. Zoe seemed to be as tall as Zach – tall like a boy. It was always an advantage to be small when you were a cheerleader – but suddenly, she wished to be just a tad taller.

Zach was waiting for her when she left the room. He smiled when he saw her, approached her and took one of her arms to roll up her sleeves.

"I can do that by myself," she snapped out of habit, but Zach didn't flinch and didn't let go.

"I know," he said, when he had finished. "I'm really glad you're here, Claire, but I'm fine, you know? I'm not special like you." He shrugged. "I don't understand how anyone could be after _me_."

"Ditto," she said. "But so far," _unless this is all one big joke, _"I'm have no reason to believe otherwise. If you hear something, you come over."

Zach waggled with his eyebrows. "Are you flirting with me?"

She smiled. "No," she said. "Definitely not."

Zach laughed. "Too bad. Anyway, let's grab something to eat – and tuck you in."

"Or tuck you in," she smiled playfully.

"I am _your_ host."

"I am _indestructible_," she said.

"So?" he laughed.

They went down to the first floor, occupied with playful banter, with laughter – and the Boy of Tomorrow smiled.

End (5/?)


End file.
